The Trickster

I hear, for the sound is reverberating in my ears
O, of the din of clashes of steel
A pained shriek of morbid finality
As now a sword embeds in flesh with a squeal
Driving a warrior to his knees
So as to make him wait for the last blow to fall,
And chop off his head.

I feel the ground tremble
As hundreds of feet rumble
On and on they go on,
Accepting their fate and what is to come
For they know their duties well,
A sacrifice that is paid to free
Lives of millions whose future is in jeopardy,
They know they shall die, but shall still try
For cowardice has no place in a battlefield.

And who is responsible for this slaughter?
A person twisted enough to betray
And kill the messenger who was bringing the word,
To stay.

The person, now grieving and
Onto himself punishment inflicting,
Turned the tide of peace into bloody conflict.



He lusted to taste the fiery drink of power,
And so, marked down the army for slaughter.

A man who had turned his back to his men,
Even to his country
Now and again!
And for manipulation,
Gaining the title of a trickster…
Is none but me.